


vivisection

by unthank



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, Mild Gore, Unreliable Narrator, gore imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:14:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27631913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unthank/pseuds/unthank
Summary: cut, blood, boy.
Relationships: Kunimi Akira/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 29





	vivisection

**Author's Note:**

> [what's the strangest way you can't be found?](https://open.spotify.com/track/1nFxTomrY4xEFWuk20IvHK?si=I1K20ZT-TGi-nLw4dfGDWA)
> 
> cw: mentions of sexual content, implied sexual content, gore imagery (purely metaphorical)

**i. rabbit**

The first time Akira met Sakusa he was lying, melted, under hot neon lights. Hinata’s hands were in his waistband, dipping below to taste more of what he knew he could offer him. Akira was eating his peach flavoured kisses; savouring them, knowing they couldn’t be his. Kisses from boys like Hinata didn’t belong to anyone.

That was the thing about Akira — he liked to kiss boys he could never have, kiss volleyball stars who turned to him one by one and said, “ _No, we cannot stay, each of us belongs to the sun_.” Boys like Akira belonged to the cool blue sea.

And maybe he was addicted to having his heart broken and taken apart by men he wished he knew how to love. He wondered what his chest would look like if it was dissected. He’s sure they’d find the name of every boy he let fly from his cold, drowning hands.

Akira likes beautiful boys and Sakusa is one of the most beautiful he’s ever seen. He pulled away from Hinata, untangled his hands from fire-bright hair. Hinata doesn’t complain, no, he moves to another boy, mouth against his and hips pressed flushed; a rabbit of a boy, a wolf of a boy.

Sakusa tastes like cigarette smoke and strawberry lip balm, against every expectation Akira had. Deep in his gut, he thought he knew what his taste would be, natural, normal, as safe as it could possibly be. 

But he tastes like the unknown space between the cavities in Akira’s chest — fearful, different.

**ii. scalpel**

If Sakusa was like anything in the world, Akira would say he was a scalpel. Precise, efficient. His gaze can cut into him with every intention of taking him apart, he has the skill to take him apart to the very bone. Sakusa does everything properly. He does everything until the end.

Akira is used to falling into the beds of athletes looking for a routine fuck; he’s used to being the number called at the end of a difficult game. 

But Sakusa has him in a vice grip, one hand around his throat and strong body against his own. There’s something unknowable about him, something that Akira can’t find. There’s nothing in his unfathomable gaze or steel sharpened words that give him anything to hold onto, but they cut between his ribs, slice each muscle and tendon with an elegance Akira is sure belongs to a man with too much practice. He wants to know just who Sakusa is.

This is strange, for him, this is unknown territory. This is a game that Akira hasn’t played yet; he isn’t sure who’s the cat and who’s the mouse, not in this case, not when they’re alone together. He wants to sink his teeth into Sakusa’s skin — he wants to feel Sakusa open him up, take him apart piece by little piece.

And so he lets him.

**iii. cut**

Sakusa treats Akira with every delicacy that no one else had ever given him. He isn’t the rough, angry fuck that Miya Atsumu is; his hands don’t bruise his hips until he’s sure he’ll never be able to walk again. But he isn’t hesitant like Kindaichi, his hands don’t hover over his skin like he’s afraid that a single touch will crack the porcelain he thinks he’s made of. Akira isn’t delicate, he never has been. He’s made of sea and stone and the deepest depths that belong to the treacherous ocean floor.

But it’s nice, in the end, to be treated with care and delicacy. It’s like he’s something precious under Sakusa’s touch, like he’s worth more than he’s ever let himself be. 

Sakusa’s made of ink and night. He’s so far above the sea that Akira doesn’t think he could drown. He’s suspended, dark, untouched, above the water, glittering with silver made to tempt the mortals scratching at the earth or swimming in the sea. Akira wants to pull it down.

(That’s something Sakusa does to him. All his violent, ugly thoughts come rushing, burning through his near-always impassive front. He becomes a creature he never knew he could be.)

It’s with delicacy that Sakusa takes him apart. He comes undone beneath him; bloody and shaking, ready to bite the hand that dares make him rise. And Sakusa, made of no soft words or easy understanding, holds him then, to his chest. For just a moment, Akira can believe that they’re both normal boys under the same sun as everyone.

“Just who  _ are _ you?” He whispered, to himself. About himself. About Sakusa.

He’d never felt more unsure.

  
  


**iv. blood**

There’s rules between them both, names that must never be spoken. 

For Akira, that’s Tobio. 

Tobio doesn’t know this, he never will. Akira keeps his boy-puppy love hidden deep within his chest, away from him so he’d never know, never look at him in any way other than the longing tenderness Akira hopes he can see in him. Sakusa had cut those feelings from Akira not so long ago. He’d twisted his heart until he cried, until he spit blood.

He’d found out who Sakusa’s name was, through his own bitter needling. Sakusa refused to say in full, refused to say the given name; all Akira got was  _ Miya Miya Miya _ . He wante to laugh, almost, but he didn't. He knew all too well the blood that could spill. But sometimes, when he wants to burn— when Sakusa’s cold touch isn’t near enough— when fighting seems fit after nightfall— he feels the need to press his sharp rabbit’s claws into indecipherable skin.

“Come on, Sakusa,” Akira whispers, all hoarse desperation. “I’ll even let you call me his name. You can even call me Atsumu, since you can’t have him anyway.”

Sakusa whispers back, cool as a knife, sharp as a needle, “Don’t you dare speak his name. Not while we’re like this.”

And there is a substance, blood or something little and mean, that bubbles up in his half split open chest. Akira can’t help but laugh.

  
  


**v. boy**

Akira rarely sees him outside a bedroom and between texts sent to designate a place to meet. What need is there, they both agree, to see each other beyond what they’ve already decided upon?

Though sometimes, quietly to himself, he wishes he knew Sakusa. He wants to know what makes him so unfathomable — he wants to be vicious. No one makes Akira as volatile as he does.

Tobio invites him to these events. He doesn’t like to go alone, though he always ends up leaving Akira to fend for himself amongst the giants that make up Japan’s monsters. It’s hot and it’s sticky here. There’s something playing loudly on the speakers above his head and he’s not sure what it is; something American, probably, if Hinata had anything to do with it. Not that he’s thinking of him now, not at all, all he’s thinking of is cool kisses made of night against the sea of his unmarked neck.

There he is, Sakusa. Tall as ever and darker than Akira’s trenches, carved from the moon by Tsukuyomi themself. 

And Akira is up against him, glass in hand and on his tongue. He wants to kiss him. He wants to feel the fight that fires between them, the desperation to know the other where no one else else. Akira would pay to taste the grey smoke between Sakusa’s mask-covered lips.

But before he can kiss him, or even begin to ask, Sakusa presses a gloved hand to his mouth and says, “Not here, not at all.”

There’s a sting straight to Akira’s gut. It cuts him quick and clean, neat as the scalpel he knows Sakusa is. And he wants to ask him what he means, to find out why he’s ending everything with no chance for him to speak; why he’s so imperious when Akira knows who can bring him trembling to his knees.

_ But is it _ , he thinks to himself,  _ worth the time and effort. _

“Your loss,” Akira says, shrugging, ignoring the wince that twists Sakusa’s brow. 

If their sex was a game to see who could win, then Akira would take no losses. If he was an experiment, used to test what physical love might be like, then he won’t be the weeping sacrifice left at the altar of an enigmatic man’s fantasies.

Who, in the end, was the rabbit on the table?

**Author's Note:**

> this is a very little thing i wrote today, completely unprompted and unbetad. i don't really know much about the quality but i know that i feel this universe in my soul, though much of it is left unexplained. akira isn't a reliable narrator, so who knows what sakusa was really thinking — or what he might've been trying to say at the end?
> 
> maybe i'll show more of these two one day. i might let akira understand sakusa beyond his primal, instinctual feelings.
> 
> 1\. vivisection is the practice of performing dissections and operations on living creatures for the purpose of scientific research, usually this is done on animals  
> 2\. tsukuyomi (or tsukuyomi-no-mikito) is the moon god in japanese mythology and shinto beliefs
> 
> thank you so much for reading!
> 
> twitter @[kuguken](https://twitter.com/kuguken)


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